Things I Don't Want to Remember
by Glum n Dumb Skittery
Summary: [rating for rape, slight angst] "Specs...what'cha doin?" Specs sighed. "...remembering." "'Memberin' what?" There was a long pause...


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A/N: Hey, I know I'm supposed to be working on "Ourselves" but I promised myself I was going to get this out before I go on my trip over Spring Break. Our Band and Orchestra is headed to Australia to play at the Sydney Opera House Festival this year! I'm psyched, but also bummed about being computer-less for a eight days. I'll live, of course. Such a drama queen.  
  
**Disclaimer: **Newsies characters, names, whatever belongs to Disney, I will not nor will ever own anything besides my story lines. And I'm OK with that now. +muffled sob+  
  
**Dedication: **Specs-65 who I am ditching for the trip. Forgive me Specs.  


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Things I Don't Want to Remember

Specs sighed shakily, burying his head deeper into his pillow, inhaling the scent of newspaper print and soft vanilla. The thin pillowcase was soon dampened by the onslaught of tears that broke past his tightly sealed eyes. Not a sound escaped his lips as silent sobs wracked his body.

***

Soft, swollen lips the color of coral, pressing hungrily to the pale exposed skin of Martin David's neck. The whispered words "It won't hurt" before pain exploded through his very veins and a sheet of black fell over his unseeing eyes. "Quit movin'," came the gruff voice, its gentle coaxing tone lost.

The mattress creaked noisily, his uncle breathing hungrily, uttering low moans. And Specs remained silent, trapping himself in self-imposed darkness, willing the tears not to fall, wishing someone would come home…

The next morning, Specs left. After three long years of the torment. The same words every night, the same pain. And he never looked back. 

Corrupted and broken, Martin Davids ceased to exist, and the newsie named Specs came to life. Free at last.

***

The letter come early in the morning. Kloppman had held it for Specs until after he'd sold his papes for the day. The others had been at Tibby's, but Specs had come back early, head swollen and pounding with a throbbing migraine. The look of both shock and sympathy on the Lodging House manager's face had been all Specs needed to see to know something life-changing had happened. To him.

He took the folded and worn piece of paper with shaky hands before walking blindly up to the bunkroom.

_Martin_, the letter began. _Uncle Cain passed away today. Mama wants you to come home. For the funeral. You were his favorite nephew after all._ Specs snorted at the irony of it all, and, finally, _Don't worry. I haven't told anyone where you are. _Good girl, thought Specs. _Love, Marta._

Lying in bed, several minutes later, everything hit him all at once. And he was ashamed by the rush of relief at his uncle's sudden death. First came the memories, and then… the tears.

***

"Heya Specs, ya feelin' bettah?" Dutchy asked, first to walk back in to the bunkroom for Tibby's, the others very audible from downstairs. 

Tears long-since dried, body empty, as though his very soul had been chained to his uncle ever since those long three years now to be stolen away to venture to Hell with said uncle, he turned his head slowly to face Dutchy as he lay on his stomach. "Mm," was his simple reply before his face fell into his pillow once more.

Dutchy watched this in silence, one eyebrow cocked, mouth twisted at a loss of what to do or say. "Uhm…" was the only intelligent thing he could come up with.

Finally, he found words. "Specs… what'cha doin'?"

Specs sighed. "Rememberin'."

"'Memberin' what?"

There was a long pause. "Things I don't want to remember."

Dutchy's face turned to pure confusion, unsure of what to do, of how to decipher what his friend had just said. Instead, he placed a strong hand on Spec's shoulder and nodded. "I see."

And the blonde boy stayed there until the brunette had broken down and cried himself out, the others straying far from the bunk at the sight. It seemed Kloppman had told them something would be up. Dutchy stayed there until Specs fell asleep and the lights had been turned off. And then silently climbed into his own bed, having made a memory of something he, himself, never wanted to remember either. The sight of his best friend crying and he not being able to do anything about it. 

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-end-

A/N: O_O Oy. I wrote this down in my Algebra class, (sad I know, 9th grade and only in Alg), but didn't realize it didn't have much of an ending. May try to tweak this later. (Review please?)

Anyways, I will not be updating Ourselves until after I get back, hopefully I can write it on the long airplane ride. (Yay.) Till then, take care all of you. Cheers.


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